“Farin does not cave,” he said.
“Apparently Elena imposed a threat he could not ignore,” Akino said.
“Do you think they struck an under-the-table deal?”
“Sam, wake up!” Visha shook him hard. “We are free! The treaty is signed, Tsuana has approved, and Farin has already sent out the orders. It’s official! We will have azadi on the fifteenth of next month.”
“Fifteenth?”His heart trembled. The fifteenth of next month was his name day.
“Elena specifically requested it,” she said, waggling her brows. She then touched his cheek, her voice softening. “You should find her.”
Samson stood there, caught between the fraying edges of his pride and his hope. He had spent the entire last day furious and grief-stricken, and honestly, he felt unwilling to give up on the bitter addiction of his self-pity. But Visha’s grin only grew wider, and he heard the first pops of fireworks breaking through the city. Colors lit up between the white towers. It was only then that he noticed the change in the voices of the merchants, the new energy and urgency that seemed to charge the air.
“Special deal on this special day!”
“Historic low prices, just for today! Two for one!”
“Newly minted fireworks with vivid new colors! Celebrate in style!”
He turned in a slow, stunned circle, gawking as the merchants hawked their old wares with a new gusto, as a Sesharian immigrant dockhand sat on his parcel, drinking rather than working, with two other dockhands. Samson stumbled up the beach, gasping as he saw holos in the beach storefronts showing Elena and Farin over a table, signing on rare paper with the honorary red fountain ink meant solely for treaties.
“Do you believe us now?” Akino said.
“No,” he said, his voice floating through the air, “I don’t.”
Visha elbowed him, and he found himself unable to grimace any longer. A smile snuck across his face. This was real?
This is real.
“I have to find her,” he said.
“There’s going to be a big celebration tonight with all the rulers and their attendants. And we’re invited, not as Ravani dignitaries, but asSesharian representatives.” Visha shook her head in disbelief. “Can you believe it? They wouldn’t even recognize us at the council, and now we’re seen as our own.”
“‘ Change can be swift like a tempest, and just as ruinous,’” Akino intoned.
“Let us hope this is not ruinous,” Samson admonished.
“Ruin for Jantar, not us!” She grabbed his elbow, pulling him forward. “Come on!”
He followed her and Akino into the city and marveled at its gleaming marble towers. Had it always been this bright, this beautiful? Or was this a reflection of how he felt? Everywhere he turned, Samson saw exuberance: in the golden rays of the sun bouncing off the spires; in the musical notes of small boats puttering through the canals; in the people who seemed no longer to be uptight and righteous, but friendly, warm. He was appalled. Overjoyed. And even a tiny bit afraid.
Hope burbled in his chest with a contagious effect. He had gone for so long without it that he did not know whether to trust its phantomlike wings beating within his chest. He allowed Visha to steer him through the city until they arrived at the palace. As Akino hailed a guard, Samson saw movement on the right, and then Elena walking through the western gates, alone.
“I’ll be just there. I need to—” he said, catching a flash of Visha’s smirk and Akino’s knowing gaze as he turned away. He hurried into the courtyard, his boots striking against the warm stones.
Elena turned, stiffening. “Samson.”
There was something odd in her voice, something that made him slow and come to a stop just before her. Purple veins ringed her eyes, as if she had not slept, and her face seemed slightly puffy. She wore no regalia, no color. Even her white kurta seemed ill-fitting, hanging off her curves rather than hugging them, her dupatta draped haphazardly over her shoulder rather than with the stylish deftness he had seen her wear before.
The wings within his chest stuttered, and alarm snuck into his voice. “Elena, what’s wrong?”
She looked up at him for a long moment, her face shuttered, her eyes dark and unreadable. She looked exhausted. She looked despondent. She looked as if she had lost someone, and he could not imagine why, on the eve of their victory.
He softened his voice, hoping to put her at ease. “Are you all right?”
She blinked, slow, long. Then Elena took a quick shuddering breath as if to expel unwanted thoughts.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
